Cinnamon Rolls and Iced Cakes
by Radical.2
Summary: Dumbledore spun around in his new office chair so that his back was facing Draco. He said, "Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy, and let me explain things a bit." Draco nodded, taking a seat. "I mean, Sir, you aren't serious? You want to add a bakery to the school?


**This will probably end up being a multi-chapter story, but this first chapter was written for the Emotion Challenge by youcanreachthestars.  
Prompt: Mortification.**

"You're mad!" exclaimed Draco. "I mean, no offense, Headmaster, but...really?"

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "What you might think is strange will likely turn out for the better in the end."

"No, I don't think it's strange. Just a bit totally insane, that's all," Draco replied sarcastically.

"Mr. Malfoy, it does not do to disrespect your elders, no matter if you're in your seventh year or your first."

"Why is it that whenever you talk, you sound like a fortune cookie?" he retorted.

Dumbledore spun around in his new office chair so that his back was facing Draco.

He said, "Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy, and let me explain things a bit."

Draco nodded, taking a seat across from Dumbledore's old, wooden desk.

"I mean, Sir, you aren't serious, right? You want to add a _bakery _to the school?" he asked incredulously.

"Uh-huh," Dumbledore said shortly. It was clear that his mind wouldn't be changed.

"You do know that 99% of the girls here will be too worried and embarrassed about getting overweight to go there," Draco stated.

"Precisely my point," Dumbledore agreed.

"How can that be your point when you haven't even told me what the point of this is yet?"

Draco was starting to get a bit infuriated at the old man.

"You've hit it spot on, Mr. Malfoy. How can a witch worry about her weight when there are some tasty, delicious, awesome donuts..." Dumbledore trailed off with a dazed smile.

Draco rolled his eyes. "So you're trying to get girls fat? I must say, that is the stupidest plan I have ever heard in my life."

"It'll be right by the Great Hall so that it won't be on any other house's area of the school," Dumbledore decided.

Draco found himself asking, "Will the house elves be working there? They seem friendly enough."

"They're too busy in the kitchens, sadly. We'll need someone right away, someone-" Dumbledore was cut off.

"Someone highly trained in the art of making pastries and cakes, having taken several cooking classes starting at age seven?" Draco asked.

"Someone like Hermione Granger, who can keep up with their studies along with the job," Dumbledore conceeded.

"Or maybe someone like me, who's been cut off for a few weeks after having an affair with a muggle," Draco suggested.

"You need money, Mr. Malfoy? Surely you must have saved something...anything..." Draco stared at the floor as Dumbledore spoke.

It was embarrassing, mortifying, to have told the headmaster of your school of your financial problems, particularly if your parents were rich.

But all Dumbledore asked about it was, "The muggle, male or female?" Draco stared at him in disgust, though his cheeks were burning red.

"Female, of course!" he exclaimed, "Headmaster, you aren't...er, nevermind. Back to the bakery- your idea's mad."

"Need I repeat my previous statement?" Dumbledore asked. "No, I think not. It's all settled, then?"

Draco stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean, what's settled? What the bloody hell are you saying, Sir?"

"That you'll start working immediately. I trust that you've already finished your weekend assignments? It is Sunday, after all."

"That's the only reason I'm not socking you in the nose right now, like Aberforth did. My parents are strictly religious and believe this to be a day of rest," said Draco.

Dumbledore touched his slightly bent nose with his index finger. "Yes, I've met them, Mr. Malfoy. I think they are right in cutting you off, and not just because of the affair."

"I'm not going to work with that muggle-born bitch, and you can't make me," Draco spat, standing up and kicking his chair back into place.

"What happened to resting?" asked Dumbledore, who only seemed amused. "Besides, if I so desired, you could start working right now."

"Without using the Imperius Curse or another illegal spell? I doubt it," Draco sneered, walking away.

"Then I'll do it the muggle way, Mr. Malfoy. Meet me at the Great Hall in an hour, or else you'll be expelled from Hogwarts, ruining your permanent record," Dumbledore threatened.

"You wouldn't dare...Well, you would," Draco admitted, anger sparking in his eyes. "I'll be there, but you'll see it soon, see that I won't stand for this."

"Your father won't do anything when you've been cut off. You, Mr. Malfoy, are a disgrace to your family's name," said Dumbledore coolly.

"You'll see," Draco repeated, opening the door to find a girl standing outside it, raising her hand as if she was about to knock on the door- Hermione Granger.

She looked just as surprised as he was. "Eavesdropper," accused Draco, blocking her way in through the door.

Hermione's cheeks turned red and she muttered something about annoying purebloods being spoiled when they couldn't get their way and had no money.

"How much would I get paid, Headmaster?" she asked, peeking her head past Draco to see the spectating old man watching them with growing curiosity.

"Shall I say, four galleons an hour? That would prove sufficient," Dumbledore said to himself, just as the two sixth-year teenagers spoke at the exact same time.

"I'm in," they both said, then realized what they had done. Draco blushed a bit again, and Hermione rolled her eyes at him. He scowled back at her.

Dumbledore chuckled, then said, "I'm sure you've heard of the meeting in an hour, Miss Granger." This ought to be interesting, he thought with a small smile.

And it hadn't even started yet. There would be this much drama, no, this much drama _times ten_ over the next few weeks.


End file.
